Gu Yangjin, the bride, was seated before a polished bronze mirror, dressed in a deep crimson robe embroidered with gold thread in the shape of soaring cranes and twin lotuses. Her long hair was coiled into an elaborate bun, secured with a phoenix hairpin that had once belonged to Madam Gu. A soft red veil lay folded on the table beside her. The light from the paper window fell across her cheek, and for all her martial dignity, there was an unguarded warmth in her eyes.
Behind her, Madam Gu — or rather, Gu Mengqi, the father who had endured every stage of planning this wedding — stood with arms crossed, clearly torn between pride and reluctance.
"I'm still not convinced," Gu Mengqi muttered. "If you ask me, she's too quick to steal you away."
Yangjin's lips curved faintly. "Father, you've had three years to get used to the idea."
